


Day 3: Tossed Salad

by missandrogyny



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Rimming, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8078311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missandrogyny/pseuds/missandrogyny
Summary: Harry sighed. “Lou,” he said, as Louis pressed kisses onto the skin of his neck. He gripped at the edge of the washing machine as Louis nibbled lightly at a spot below his jaw. “I’m doing the laundry."





	

Harry woke the next day pleasantly sore in places he hardly remembered he  _could_ be sore in. Beside him, Louis was fast asleep, his mouth open, drooling onto his pillow. He looked a bit ridiculous—his hair mussed up, pillow marks on his cheeks, skin bruised from the previous day’s activities—but Harry still thought he looked gorgeous like this, in the early morning light.

It took a great deal of willpower not to roll over and go back to sleep, cuddling up to Louis until they were tangled from head to toe. He couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to—he could hear the light pitter-patter of feet, a sign that Izzy was already up and ready to start the day. George would probably follow soon, which meant that Harry had to get out of bed and actually make breakfast, unless he wanted them to starve to death. Besides, Louis had to get up in twenty minutes for work, and with the promotion he was angling, it would probably best for him not to call a sick day just to stay in and cuddle with his husband and his children. 

The thing they don’t tell you about these thirty-day sex challenges, Harry thought, as he forced himself to swing his legs off the bed, is just how _clingy_ you get with your partner.

Sure enough, the instant he’d pulled himself onto a standing position, the door to their bedroom flew open, Izzy bouncing in with a flurry of energy only children are able to possess.

“Daddy!” She squealed, running towards him. Harry sent up a brief word of thanks to his past self for pulling his pajamas on before he went to sleep. “George and I want pancakes.”

Harry spared a glance to his husband, hoping Isabelle hadn’t woken him. Even though Harry knew Louis could wake up now and it wouldn’t make a difference—his alarm would ring in fifteen minutes, after all—Harry still didn’t want to disturb him. He looked so peaceful like that, like he wasn’t working overtime almost daily.

He shouldn’t have worried; Louis was still asleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. He hadn’t moved at all.

Harry turned his attention back to his daughter, who was standing in front of him, her hands behind her back. “You and George, huh?” he asked, his eyes flitting behind her, to the space that was definitely empty. “Where is he?”

“In his room, still sleeping.” she answered immediately.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “How did George say he wanted pancakes, then?”

“ _Well_ ,” Isabelle huffed, her arms crossed. Her little face was pinched in a slight scowl, like she was annoyed at Harry for being purposefully dumb. “He didn’t, really. But I bet if we woke him up right now, he would say he wanted pancakes. I’ll prove it, daddy, come on.”

“Izzy, please don’t wake your brother,” Harry said automatically. He loved his kids, he really did, but it was really much easier dealing with one hyperactive child than two. George could stay asleep for as long as he liked.

“I won’t,” Isabelle replied. Her expression morphed into something else, almost the exact replica of Louis’ expression whenever he wanted Harry to make him tea. “Pancakes, daddy. Please?” She even signed the word, ramping up the puppy dog eyes.

Harry rolled his eyes, feeling the beginnings of a smile tugging up the corners of his lips. She really was her father’s daughter. “Come on,” he said, walking over to grab a shirt from the cabinet in the corner. He held out a hand and waited for Isabelle to take it. “If you’re really good, I might even let you crack the egg.”

Isabelle gasped, her eyes widening in excitement. “I’ll be good, I promise!”

. . . 

Ten minutes later, the house smelled like frying pancakes. Harry hummed happily as he flipped a pancake on the skillet, the one side of it coming up fluffy and golden brown. Even though Isabelle had cracked the egg a bit too hard that Harry had to spend a bit of time picking out egg shells from the batter, Harry was pleased to find that they still looked perfect.

He took a cursory glance around the room—he spotted Isabelle seated on the corner with Zuko. She held his face in between her hands, and she seemed to be talking to him with as much severity a four-year-old can muster. Zuko simply wagged his tale in happiness.

“Smells like pancakes,” Louis’ voice came from behind him, and he turned around to find Louis standing by the doorway to the kitchen, George in his arms. George had his arms around Louis’ neck, but pulled away when he heard his father’s words.

“Pancakes!” He exclaimed, clapping his little hands together delightedly. “Pancakes, yay!”

Harry could feel the Isabelle’s _I-told-you-so_ look from across the room.

“Da, can I help?” George reached out his arms towards Harry, but Harry shook his head.

“Sorry, love,” he said. “They’re almost done.”

“Oh.” George’s face fell for a moment, before he perked up, excited. “Choc’late chip?”

Harry laughed. “Of course,” he said, gesturing to the stack of chocolate chips pancakes already cooling on the counter.

“Yay!” George said again, clapping his little hands together. He wriggled in Louis’ arms until Louis set him down on the floor, before he toddled over to where Isabelle and Zuko were. Harry watched fondly as Isabelle grabbed George to sit on her lap, hugging him tightly.

“Our children are rather cute, aren’t they?” Louis’ voice interrupted his thoughts, and Harry felt a pair of arms snaking around his waist, a face pressed against his shoulder.

“Of course, Louis,” he answered, turning back to the skillet. He flipped the pancake over once more and slid it onto the plate, all without dislodging Louis’ hold. “They’re ours, after all. We’re pretty cute, aren’t we?”

“Sickeningly so,” Louis agreed, pressing a kiss onto Harry’s cheek. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a baby,” Harry replied, pouring another scoop of batter onto the skillet. “Woke up sore, too.”

Harry felt Louis’ naughty smile against his neck. “Good sore or bad sore?”

“Amazing sore,” Harry sighed wistfully, if only for the way it makes Louis laugh and bite at his neck. “Not when the kids are in the room, Louis!”

Louis kissed the spot he bit. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologized, nuzzling into Harry’s neck. “I couldn’t help it, I think this thirty-day sex thing might just be the greatest idea you’ve ever had.”

Harry turned his face to the side, just to give Louis a peck on the lips. “Go set the table and wash our kids’ hands,” he said, extracting himself from Louis arms and immediately missing their warmth. “The pancakes will be done in a minute.”

Louis pressed another soft kiss to his lips before he went to grab their plates from the cupboard.

It was a wonderful breakfast; all of them sat on the dining room table. Isabelle had wolfed down her pancakes happily, with Louis watching over and cutting her pancakes into smaller pieces. George, of course, was a mess—he ended up covered in syrup from head to toe, but he was happily eating the pieces of pancake Harry had cut up for him with his hands. Harry watched him fondly, before lifting his head to watch Louis.

Louis was already looking back, the look in his eyes reflecting the happiness that, Harry felt, radiated from him. Days like this were rare, especially with Louis’ promotion and Harry’s book and the kids growing up way too fast, and it was an amazing feeling to be sat on the dining table with his family eating breakfast, even if only for a short while.

Maybe Louis was right. Maybe this thirty-day sex challenge is one of the best ideas he’s ever had.

After that, Louis took the plates to the sink, then went up to get ready for work as Harry picked George up from his high chair. He took Isabelle into the family room before taking George to give him a quick wipe down before his bath. George ended up rubbing most of the syrup onto Harry’s shirt, instead of the towel, but it didn’t matter—Harry needed to the laundry later anyway. Their hamper was looking very full.

Louis was at the foot of the stairs when Harry emerged from the bathroom, already dressed in his suit for work. Harry dragged his eyes lazily over Louis’ body, taking in the pressed fabric of his suit jacket, the fit of his trousers against his legs, the polished shine of his brogues.

He looked back up. Louis’ cheeks were tinged pink.

“I’m going to be late,” Louis scolded, a small smirk on his face. He had obviously enjoyed Harry’s very thorough once-over.

“It’s not my fault my husband is hot,” Harry shot back, stepping closer to press a soft kiss onto Louis’ lips. In his arms, George wriggled violently, trying to make his presence known.

Harry used one hand to smooth down Louis’ lapel. “Solve a murder for me today, okay?”

Louis shook his head, smiling. “How many times do I have to tell you that’s not how it works?”

“You can tell me as many times as you want,” Harry replied, grinning back at him. “I’m still not going to listen.”

Louis shook his head, pressed another kiss onto Harry’s lips. He pressed a kiss onto George’s head as well, who squealed, reaching over to hug his Papa.

“Isabelle’s in the family room,” Harry said, and followed Louis into the family room, watching Louis interact with their daughter. He had to stifle a laugh when Isabelle made Louis kiss Zuko goodbye on the head as well before he could leave.

“Izzy?” Harry said, when Louis left, on his way to work. “I need to give George a bath. Will you be okay alone for a while?”

Isabelle paused, and cocked her head towards him. The look she gave him reminded him of Louis, when they were arguing and Louis was just daring him to object. “Can I watch _Beauty and the Beast_ please?”

“`Course, love,” Harry said, setting George down to set up the movie. When he was done, and Isabelle was seated on the couch, engrossed in the opening credits, he found George at the back of the couch, trying to grab at Ziggy’s tail.

“No, Georgie,” he said, picking him up. George squealed in protest but threw his hands around his Harry’s neck, gripping his hair with his little fist. Harry sighed, pressed a kiss into his still-sticky head, and brought him to the bathroom.

Giving George a bath was a bit of a struggle, because George insisted that he had to have all his bath toys with him, and then refused to get out of the bath until Harry bribed him with ice cream. He didn’t have to follow through with that, though—the instant George was dressed, his eyes started to droop, signalling that it was time for a nap.

Harry put him to bed quickly, with minimal fuss, and then went to fetch Isabelle from the family room for her bath. It was easier this time, because Isabelle was older and was much less prone to fits. When she was dry, Harry put her back in the family room to finish watching her film.

He took a bath—he groaned as the warm water washed over his skin, soothing his sore muscles. He washed himself quickly, not wanting to leave his kids alone for much too long, and dried himself as efficiently as possible. When he was done, combing through the wet strands of his hair with his fingers, he found Isabelle already asleep on the couch, the film still playing on the telly.

He quickly picked her up and put her to bed. She didn’t stir at all, just grabbed her pillow and hid her face into it.

Harry sighed with relief. That should keep them occupied for a bit.

. . .

He did a bit of housework, because it was hard to find time to do chores when he had two children under the age of five awake and running around. He rinsed the dishes and quickly loaded them in the dishwasher, hoovered the carpet in the living room and the family room. He dusted off the shelves and took out the trash, and was even able to find a bit of time to work on his book. He was just about to start a cycle on laundry when his kids woke up and demanded lunch.

He spent the rest of the day with his kids, because Isabelle kept insisting that he teach her how to read, and George whined every time he left the room. He didn’t really mind—his children were the light of his life (bar Louis, of course) and the feeling he got when he saw Isabelle with her brow furrowed as she calmly perused a letter, or the look in George’s face while he played with his toys, was something nothing, not even money or fame, could compare to.

Louis arrived home when Harry was busy cooking dinner, the kids playing a game in the family room. Louis gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before going off to spend time with the kids, leaving Harry to do the cooking all by himself.

They ate dinner reminiscent of the way they ate breakfast, messy, loud and _happy_. It was spaghetti night, and Harry had barely managed to stop George from pouring tomato sauce all over his head.

Louis laughed at him when the tomato sauce ended up on his shirt instead. It made Harry pout, but he couldn’t hold that expression for much too long. Louis was just—he was just breathtaking, the crinkles beside his eyes making him look younger, more relaxed. His eyes were a bright blue, shining with happiness and laughter and love for their little family, and Harry thought that he could be faced with the most beautiful diamond in the world, and it still wouldn’t compare to Louis’ eyes.

He realized Louis after a moment that Louis was looking back, eyes calmer, softer. The loving look in his eyes didn’t go away as he gazed at Harry, in fact it seemed to multiply tenfold, leaving Harry almost breathless. Louis didn’t need to say anything; Harry could read it clearly from the look in his eyes, from the curve of his lips: _thank you,_ and, _I love you_.

After dinner, Louis took the kids to the family room, while Harry sat on their bed, working on his novel. He was so engrossed in it that he didn’t even notice time passing, didn’t even notice Louis climb on the bed until he slid behind Harry, pressing kisses onto his neck 

“You know, you shouldn’t sit like that,” Louis said, referring to how Harry was hunched over his laptop, seated on the bed. “It’s bad for your back.”

Harry huffed, but didn’t tear his eyes away from his computer screen. Louis continued pressing kisses onto Harry’s skin, before biting gently under Harry’s jaw.

“Lou, I’m _writing_.”

“You can write tomorrow,” Louis wheedled, his tongue darting out to lick the soft skin below Harry’s ear, right behind his jaw. “Right now, I just want to fuck my husband until he can’t even speak.”

The thought sounded _very_ appealing. Harry hummed and tilted his head, giving Louis more access. “The kids?”

“Already asleep,” Louis replied, his lips brushing Harry’s skin. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut. “Went down easily, even Izzy. Just you and me now, babe.”

It took a few minutes for Louis’ words to sink in. “Wait, _fuck_ ,” Harry said, pulling away from Louis. “What time is it?”

“What’s wrong?” Louis asked, but Harry didn’t pay him any mind—he was too busy staring at the time on the corner of his computer screen. _10:52 p.m.,_ it read in bold black letters, and normally the time wouldn’t bother him, except, that, well, he forgot to do the laundry.

“Shit, it’s that late already?” Harry asked, still staring at the time on his computer screen. “Fuck, I forgot to do laundry!”

Harry felt Louis place his hands on his shoulders. “It’s fine,” Louis said, his tone soothing. His thumbs dug into the muscles of Harry’s shoulders, a pressure that made Harry groan and drop his head. “We haven’t run out of clean clothes yet.”

“Do you want it to get to that point?” Harry replied sulkily, even he relaxed, helpless under Louis’ ministrations. Louis’ massages were a rare event—it used to happen more often, back when they lived in a tinier place and their mattress hardly ever agreed with Harry’s back. “Until we all walk around naked like cave men?”

“You’re being dramatic,” Louis chided, sounding amused. “But in the interest of full disclosure, I wouldn’t mind you walking around naked.”

Harry huffed. He wouldn’t mind Louis walking around naked, too. But. “Think of the children,” he said, almost wistfully. He let himself enjoy Louis’ massage for a few more moments, before pulling away, and hopping to his feet.

“Wait,” Louis said, startled. Harry didn’t turn around to look at him; instead, he busied himself with picking up their hamper, already overflowing with dirty clothes. “Where are you going?”

Harry balanced the hamper on his hip, using his foot to pick up one of Louis’ dirty socks and doing his best to stuff it into the hamper. “To do laundry,” he answered. “Babe, I’m _really_ not going to be able to relax if I don’t get this done by tonight.” He couldn’t even believe he let it get to this point. Usually he was so good at laundry, consistently doing it every week. His mom would be so embarrassed.

He didn’t wait for Louis to reply, just left the room and made his way to their washing machine. He grabbed the kids’ hampers as well, sighing as he saw how full it was—not nearly as full as his and Louis’, but full enough—and made his way to the laundry room. Once there, he quickly got to work, separating the clothes. The sooner he finished this, the sooner he could go back to bed with Louis and do…other things.

It was when he was starting up the first load that he heard soft footsteps; a few moments later and there were a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist.

Harry sighed. “Lou,” he said as Louis pressed kisses onto the skin of his neck. He gripped at the edge of the washing machine, as Louis nibbled lightly at a spot below his jaw. “I’m doing the laundry.”

“I’m not stopping you from doing that.” Louis’ stubble was rough against the sensitive skin of his neck, and it made Harry shiver, goose pimples erupting on his arms. One of Louis’ hands slipped under the fabric of Harry’s shirt, and Harry let out a soft moan as Louis thumbed his nipple.

Louis was hard; Harry could feel the length of him pressed against his arse, through his joggers. Louis bit down on Harry’s neck, sucking a blood bruise, sending a spike of pain-pleasure down Harry’s spine.

“Louis,” he whined again. Louis’ other hand was travelling down to Harry’s slowly hardening cock, leaving a scorching trail in its wake. He gripped Harry’s cock lightly, stroked him slowly, and Harry’s knees almost buckled at the sensation.

“The laundry,” Harry said weakly, as Louis stroked him into full hardness.

“It’s fine,” Louis said dismissively, into the skin of Harry’s neck, as his hand moved slowly, up and down Harry’s cock. He thumbed at the head, spreading the precome down Harry’s shaft, making the glide easier. “Just wanna touch you a little bit.”

Harry shut his eyes, Louis’ words making a warmth erupt in his belly. “But,” he started, breaking off into a moan as Louis’ hand tightened around Harry’s cock.

“But what?”

“I—” Fuck, Harry couldn’t even _remember_ what he wanted to say. He was too distracted by the heat of Louis’ body pressed against him, the feel of Louis’ hands against his skin.

“But what, love?” Louis prodded, stroking Harry’s cock even more slowly. Harry could feel the smirk pressed against the skin of his neck, his stubble grazing against the sensitive skin of Harry’s neck, and Harry prayed wildly that there’d be a mark there tomorrow.

He whined as Louis pinched his nipple. “I—I don’t _know_ ,” he managed to get out, as Louis pressed himself closer to Harry. “I can’t think.”

Louis bit down hard on Harry’s skin, the pain helping to clear Harry’s mind a little bit. “Fuck,” Louis breathed, nosing his way behind Harry’s ear. “You smell so _good_.”

He bit down on Harry’s earlobe, tugging at it with his teeth. “And you taste so good, too,” Louis murmured. He stroked at Harry’s cock, thumbing at the head. Harry tried to focus on keeping himself upright. “I just want to taste you.”

Harry felt like his blood was set on fire, and wherever he and Louis were touching burned white-hot, like a supernova. “I want to lick you everywhere,” Louis continued, lightly stroking Harry’s cock. “I want to lay you down and map you out with my tongue.”

“Lou,” Harry managed to get out. He fucked up into Louis’ hand, trying to get him to move his hand faster, but Louis had other plans.

“I just want to  _eat_ you,” he said, keeping his touch on Harry’s cock light. Harry’s stomach quivered as Louis’ other hand drifted down from Harry’s nipple to splay on his stomach. “Can I do that, Haz? Can I eat you out?”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, Lou, please, I—”

And then Louis was gone, the heat of his body disappearing from Harry’s back. Harry whined, turning around to grab Louis and pull him closer, but he’s suddenly pushed down onto the washing machine, a hand on his lower back 

“What are you,” Harry started, as he felt Louis pull his joggers down, exposing his arse. He gasped quietly as Louis spread his arse cheeks apart, brushing a finger against his dry hole.

“You said I could,” Louis replied. Harry felt him bite down gently at Harry’s left arse cheek. “You said I could eat you out.”

He pressed a kiss right above Harry’s hole, his tongue darting out to taste. Harry shivered at the sensation, gripping tighter at the edge of the washing machine.

“The clothes,” Harry said, suddenly remembering where they were. If his mind was clearer, he would probably object to it—he was, after all, bent over the washing machine, half naked and about to be rimmed, while his kids’ clothes were being washed below him—but as it was, he just found the entire thing hot, arousal rising in his belly quickly.

“They won’t get stained,” Louis answered, his tone dismissive. His hands kneaded Harry’s arse cheeks. “The lid’s on, after all.”

“But—” Harry didn’t finish his sentence, because Louis chose that exact moment to lick a broad stripe over his hole.

Harry felt himself turn to putty under Louis’ tongue, and he moaned loudly, pressing his face on the cool surface of the washing machine. He tried to focus on staying upright, tried to lock his knees so he wouldn’t suddenly collapse on the floor. His knuckles, he noted distantly, are white, from where they’re gripping the edges of the washing machine so hard.

Louis licked him out gently, almost reverently, as if savouring Harry’s taste on his tongue. It drove Harry to desperation; made him spread his legs even further and grind his arse back into Louis’ face. But Louis’ grip on his arse was tight, and he pushed Harry back until he was pressed into the washing machine, unable to move.

“Louis,” Harry gasped, as he felt Louis give him a little kitten lick. “Louis, _please_ —”

Louis pulled away with a loud sucking sound. Harry whined at the loss.

“Shh,” Louis murmured, leaning forward to suck a love bite in his arse cheek. He pulled away, and pressed on the bruise with a finger, making Harry whimper. “You have to be quiet. You don’t want to wake the kids.”

Harry licked his lips. “Why,” he started, the word coming out slightly slurred, “are you talking about our kids when you’re supposed to be _fucking eating me out_?”

Louis laughed, but didn’t reply; simply buried his face back into Harry’s arse. One of his hands left its perch on Harry’s arse and made its way down to the skin right behind Harry’s balls. He massaged Harry’s taint; Harry keened when one of Louis’ fingers pressed against something that made electricity zip down Harry’s spine.

“Shh,” Louis murmured, into Harry’s arse. “The kids.”

Harry whined again, but bit down on his lower lip obediently, trying to stay quiet. Louis continued to alternate between fondling Harry’s balls and massaging his taint, as his mouth moved sinfully over Harry’s arse, pressing kisses and licking over it lazily. Harry let out a small whine when Louis grazed his teeth against Harry’s rim.

“Fuck,” Louis said, right into Harry’s arse, and the vibrations of his words made Harry quiver. He felt suspended on the edge; at the precipice, ready to fall. “You taste so good, I just want to eat you out over and over again.”

He punctuated that statement with a kitten lick, before flattening and pushing it into Harry’s arse. Louis wriggled his tongue around for a bit before pulling out, fucking Harry with his tongue as his other hand continued to massage his taint.

“Lou,” Harry gasped. He pulled one of his hands away from the washing machine, moving it lower until he could grip at his cock and jerk himself off. “Lou, `m so close, _please_ —”

Louis pulled his hand away from Harry’s taint, placing it back on Harry’s arse cheek and spreading him even further. He licked Harry earnestly, fucked him with his tongue relentlessly and Harry couldn’t do anything but whine, his hand moving quickly down and up his cock, jerking himself off. He could feel his orgasm coiling in his belly, like a spring being wound tight, ready to shoot off at any moment.

“Harry,” Louis murmured, his voice mesmerized. He pushed the tip of his thumb into Harry’s hole, and Harry trembled, bit down hard on his lower lip to stop from screaming at the sensation. He wanted more—wanted to feel Louis’ fingers inside him, wanted to be stretched out until he was incoherent and begging for Louis’ cock.

“Louis, please,” Harry said, pushing his arse back. “I want…more, Louis, _please_.”

He gasped when he felt Louis lean forward, his breath ghosting at Harry’s wet hole. “No,” Louis murmured, and his tongue darted out to lick at Harry’s hole. “I want you to come from just this.”

Harry whined, the movement of his hand on his cock speeding up 

“Can you do that for me?” Louis asked. He licked at Harry’s hole, all while he pushed his thumb deeper into Harry. His grip on Harry’s arse was hard, painful, and Harry hoped that his fingerprints would leave bruises. “Can you, babe?”

Harry nodded so hard he went dizzy with it. “Yeah,” he answered, as he stroked himself quicker, Louis’ tongue still on his arse. “Yeah, yeah, I—fuck, Lou, I—”

“Come for me,” Louis interrupted, his voice low, the vibrations of it shooting sparks like fireworks up Harry’s spine, and it took three more licks until Harry was coming with a shout, spilling all over his hand and the lid of the washing machine.

He pressed his forehead against the surface of the machine, feeling the boneless and exhausted. Louis pulled away, and Harry listened as Louis pulled his trousers down, listened as Louis grabbed his cock and jerked himself off roughly.

Harry yawned, and did his best to bend over even more, thrusting his arse out to Louis. “Lou,” he said, his voice scratchy, spent. “Come on my bum, please.”

“Fuck—” Louis broke off into a loud moan as he came, splattering Harry’s arse with his come, marking Harry as his. Harry felt himself clench; he knew abstractly, that he wouldn’t be able to keep Louis’ come inside him, seeing as, well, there _isn’t_ any come inside him, but he couldn’t help it—he loved the feeling of his arse dripping with Louis’ come, loved feeling like he was marked by Louis. Loved the way that anybody could walk into their laundry room right now and see who he belonged to, loved the fact that he’s _Louis’,_ the same way Louis was his.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, and then Louis is gently manhandling him; turning him around and pushing him up against the washing machine. Harry closed his eyes as Louis kissed him deeply, tasting of tea and _Harry_. Harry moaned into the kiss, used his hands to grab Louis by the arse and pulled him closer, his thumb brushing on the scripted _H_ on his arse cheek.

Harry felt Louis smile against his lips. “Possessive, aren’t you?” Louis said when they broke off for air, their foreheads still pressed together. One of his hands dropped down to press on the cursive _L_ on Harry’s thigh.

“I just love your bum,” Harry answered, digging his thumb deeper into Louis’ arse. He pulled him closer, pressed a quick kiss on his lips. “I just love _you_.”

Louis shook his head. “And I love you too,” he answered, the fondness in his voice making Harry feel like he’s been pumped full of sunlight. “Now come on, let’s clean you up.”

He pulled away, grabbing one of the dirty shirts from Harry’s pile of unfinished laundry, and wiped down Harry’s stomach, before motioning for Harry to turn around. Harry pouted, but complied—he couldn’t help but sigh sadly as he felt Louis gently wipe off the now-drying come from his arse.

“Next time,” Louis said, pressing a kiss onto one of Harry’s arse cheek. “We’ll go on vacation and you can keep that there for as long as you like. Might be a bit sticky, but. Whatever you want.”

“Oh, yeah?” Harry asked, turning around and reaching out for Louis. Louis fit himself in between Harry’s spread legs, his blue eyes bright, but hazy from his orgasm. Harry slid his hands into Louis’ hair, kissed him deeply. “Promise?”

“Of course,” Louis answered, kissing him back. His free hand curled around Harry’s hip. “Anything you want.”

They spent a few minutes making out, half naked, and only pulled apart when the washing machine beeped, signaling the end of the wash. Louis pulled away, his gaze darting to the still-unwashed piles of clothes Harry had separated.

Harry sighed, shook his head. “Leave it,” he said, when Louis motioned to the pile, a query in his eyes. “I’ll do it tomorrow. Let’s just go to bed.”

“But what happened to ‘ _oh no, Lou, we’re going to end up walking around naked like cave men’_?” Louis asked, a teasing glint in his hazy blue eyes.

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, with no venom whatsoever. He picked up his stained trousers, tossing them into one of the piles of laundry. “Tomorrow,” he said, making his way out of the laundry room. “I’ll do the laundry tomorrow.”

“Knew you just needed a bit of convincing,” Louis replied smugly, picking up his own trousers and tossing them into the direction of one of Harry’s unclean piles. “Now come on.”

He grabbed Harry’s hand and wasted no time pulling him up the stairs and into the bedroom. Harry sighed contentedly when he crawled under the covers, still half-naked, and felt Louis fit himself against his back.

“Night, babe,” Louis murmured, pressing a kiss onto Harry’s temple.

“Night,” Harry yawned. He snuggled further into Louis’ chest, felt his eyes close. “God, we’re _so_ lucky none of the kids like playing in the laundry room.”

Louis’ sleepy laugh is the last thing Harry heard before he fell asleep, warm and safe and content in his husband’s arms.


End file.
